You and Me at the End of the World
by JustAGirlWithAPen
Summary: Eastern Europe is being ripped apart one country at a time, and Feliks brings home devastating news. (Best while listening to I Will Follow You Into the Dark by DCFC) Warning, actual graphic smut inside.


You and Me at the End of the World

It was a very _green _afternoon.

Summer lay heavily on Washington, D.C.'s embassy district. It exhausted trees and burdened its people with a lethargy as old as time. The season left the tired and busy to wonder who could have ever convinced them that spending the day hustling about was ever preferable to simply dozing in some free corner of the earth until such hellish weather had receded. Glistening white concrete and manicured lawns remained vital due to their affluent caretakers, mocking the thirsty with an absurdly emerald display of foliage—a dignified "fuck you" to mother nature and her order.

Toris paced nervously around one such pavilion with a thousand worries crashing through his mind—the status quo—fingering an old cigarette that he would never light, even though sovereign nations were in no danger of getting lung cancer. That particular brand had been in vogue many years ago, but time and his personal brand of melancholy had rendered it a dismal cylinder of war memories past.

He was never nostalgic for the wartime itself, of course, but sometimes Toris thought fondly on simpler times. Times when the world was smaller and full of promise. And Feliks.

Although they had reconciled their personal relationship, they had never reclaimed the physical intimacy only joined nations could feel. Despite all the jests made about their marriage (Toris once broke an umbrella over Gilbert's head in a fit of indignation), he truly admired the little blond Pole. Feliks, despite his fits if vapid indignity, had captured his husbands heart—in the words of more contemporary wit, "slowly, then all at once".

It was the little things, at first—the way he'd fumble his soup spoon one minute, then manage to finish his pierogi without spilling a drop of sauce; the way he named all his horses, and cared for any that came under his protection like children. Toris started noticing the subtle intonations in his voice that everyone else missed, like the extra warble he adopted when being particularly ridiculous, or the hardening of his e's and i's when something really agitated him. When he adopted a malicious tone, his eyes seemed to subtly grey.

Feliks was a vibrant force of nature in those days. He refused to die. He refused to stop believing in himself, and eventually Toris, even when everyone else did.

_Toris fought to regain control of his facilities, focusing on the linen his nose rested upon. He felt the fabric beneath his right hand, and the wiry shoulder of his lover beneath the other. The afternoon sun traced its lazy fingers over the dewy backs of the two, so lost in each other._

"_Tori"_

"_Feliks I-"_

"_Toris, it's okay, you can-"_

"_Aaa-!" The brunette bit the other man's neck in frustration. "I can't, I just can't. I'm sorry."_

_He sat up, sheets pooling around his waist where they were still joined. Feliks laid a reassuring hand on his lover's thigh. _

"_Get off." Toris felt his chest contract. He'd failed so many times before, not only as a country, but a man. He turned towards the window, where the last notes of August dripped through the cracks in the curtain and dyed the room gold. The light masked his sorrow as the last of his dignity crumbled. He felt a queasy flicker deep within him, beyond the physical sensation of being so close to the edge. He was Un-Becoming; in that moment he flickered like a candle—not quite a nation, but not a man. _

_The hand that pushed him away slowly became an anchor._

"_It's going to be okay, you know." Toris glanced at the blond, face to the light. There was a strange peace about him, more likely derived from indifference rather than true confidence. "We all change. It's part of life." _

_Toris bit his lip. "Not if I dissolve completely it won't be."_

"_We don't cease to exist if our borders get erased, you putz. We just become…like…different."_

_Toris doesn't respond._

"_Being mortal isn't all that horrible, you know."_

"_I'm not ready to die." It comes out smaller and more timid than Toris intends it to. Feliks chuckles in a rare moment of bitterness._

"_That's how you know you're really living," he mused, running a hand through his dampened bangs. "Listen. Honey, when nations dissolve…they don't just disappear. You'd just be….you know, like, human, and stuff." _

_Toris glanced sharply at the other man. A rare tear had traced a path down Feliks' face, resting on his throat, and at once he felt guilty. _

"_So I'll be like everyone else? I'll cough and age and die like the rest of them?"_

"_I won't leave you alone. You…I thought you knew…like you know better." The anchor became a hook as the blond struggled to keep his mask of indifference. "It's not like it matters, anyways. When you're an old fart you'll be grateful for my perky ass. I'm the one who'd have to, like, bury you, anyways."_

_The last bit whispered its way into Toris' core. "You'd…you'd keep me around? Don't be ridiculous. Our marriage would never last if I were…if I were mortal."_

"_You think I live with you because of some agreement? You think I'd…like, share a bed with someone who I didn't…you know..!" The blond panted in distress, thoughts racing faster than his tongue. Toris held his gaze. If they were in public, he would tell the Pole to calm down and think about what he was saying, but in their own space, the words weren't needed._

"_You're more than a nation. I love you, and you're mine, until we're both…dust." Toris turned back towards the dying amber light. _

"_There's really nothing I can do about it anyways," he sighed. His eyes began to prickle. "It's just not fair. I'm…I'm supposed to be there for you. And I can't know how I'll change if I'm…human."_

"_You're dumb." Feliks's smirk reached around and quirked at the other man's mouth. "It's not set in stone, dumbass. I'll always be here for you, whatever happens." Toris didn't disgrace his profession with a response, instead lacing their fingers together on top of his hip._

_Turning away from the light, he propped himself over Feliks, letting their noses touch. The blond closed the distance, nipping his lover's mouth slowly, thoughtfully. Soon the Toris was back in the arms of his husband, licking his way down a favorite well-marked path from jaw to collarbone. _

"_Love isn't just about giving, either," he purred, stifling a giggle when Toris stilled. He took the chance to flip them over—ignoring the other man's squeak. Surprise was a good look for him. Feliks nipped his ear before whispering what he wanted him to do._

_This time, their cries of release bled out into the dying day as the world outside tore them apart. Sweet nothings frosted their reprieve; they hid from the coming storm and wished they would be forgotten._

_They were young, and so very naïve. _

Standing outside his Embassy, wrapped up in a memory, Toris thought about their recent reconnection. The years had changed them both—there was caution in their kisses, and some nights neither of them slept at all. They fought—the Soviets' antagonism had given him a backbone, after all—but Feliks was home to him. A home that had been empty for many years, but still his own. They were making it work.

A screech and then a solid _thunk _set a smile on his face before he actually saw Feliks. He had always been the more sober of the pair, and kept reminding himself to _look happy because you're finally okay. _The Pole's expression quickly erased whatever welcome the other had prepared, though.

Feliks was afraid.

"I'm dying, Toris."

Never one for subtly and tact, the shorter man brushed past the Lithuanian and disappeared into the embassy in an ironic cloud of Chanel and vibrant pink. Toris gaped.

His Oxfords filled with lead as the world ground to a halt.

An eternity later, he found himself leaning against the island as his boyfriend smashed jars and raged against mankind. Broken glass pickled condiments laid cold and useless on the marble. Toris didn't flinch as other things splattered the morose canvas of the floor, not even the eggs—while the anger of Russia was as wild as that of Feliks, it was not directional. He waited.

"It's not fucking fair! They-" _smash _"can't" _smash _"tear" _smash _"me"_ smash _"apart like I'm some sort of garbage! I won't have it, I won't do it!" He punctuated the next crash with a scream as the palm of his hand was sliced open. Once again Toris found himself suddenly elsewhere, standing behind Feliks and wrapping his wound in a dish towel. He whispered some meaningless condolence as the rage dissolved into body-racking sorrow.

Words had never been either of their strong suits.

While he's fixing a proper bandage, it comes out in pieces. Since the dissolution of the European Union, many countries had been unable to support themselves and maintain stable borders. Despite Liet's help, Poland had been rapidly losing territory as payment for unpayable debts. Most of Europe was fragmented and rapidly being colonized by the East in an ironic twist of fate—and poor Feliks had lost more than eighty percent of his nation's territory. Despite all appearances, the meeting in New York he'd attended had been a formality for many nations. It was a declaration of their people's demise and their _personal_ mortality.

He thought back on their last night together so many years ago. He hadn't actually been destroyed, merely captured; whatever the end result, they still stood on the same precipice. Tomorrow his lover would be only that, representing nothing more than a body, another refugee. Deep down, Toris knew that soon he would follow, or be consumed by his old foe again.

But tonight was about Feliks.

He quietly mopped up every last shard of anger and emptied the garbage. He always felt guilty leaving messes for his housekeeper, even if Feliks did not. Taking the old cigarette out of his pocket, he climbed the stairs once more.

There was really no reason why they had separate bedrooms. Feliks and Toris had been sleeping together, albeit with some hiatus, for the last several centuries. For appearance's sake, though, there were two separate suites in the Lithuanian Embassy—one decked out in red and gold and brown, the other in lavender and cream, with a ridiculous star-chart ceiling. Toris paused at this one.

Feliks lay inside, breathing inaudibly. His back was towards the door, and he cradled his and under the covers. Silently, the taller man came inside, pausing before undoing the top button of his shirt.

"Do you want to be alone?"

There was no response. Toris turned to leave. Helplessness lent him a sense of shame; it was his greatest foil and it gave him no rest.

"Please…stay." Feliks had never uttered a phrase so hollow. It drifted through the space between the men like a dead leaf. Carefully folding his shirt and pants, Toris obliged.

As soon as he was settled, though, the smaller man pinned him, kissing him with a ferocity he'd long believed gone with his other novice teenage inclinations. Graceless and desperate, the rest of their clothes were discarded into some dark corner of the room as Feliks bit and ground himself against his lover.

"Make love to me…like it's our last time. Like…it's the end of the world," he commanded breathlessly, licking at the shell of Toris' ear, just the way that gave him chills. Despite himself he was growing uncomfortably hard against Feliks' leg. He chuckled mirthlessly.

"It is the end of the world."

"Then what's the holdup, chucklefuck?" Toris bit back a moan as a hand ghosted his erection.

"You're—aah—you're not okay—," he panted. "It's—how are you—fuck it, Feliks, hold on!" He forcibly sat up, stifling a shudder at the sudden cold. "Stop pretending like you don't care! People aren't supposed to bury things like that! I've seen it destroy nations—people—much stronger than you, so stop it right now!" His lover's eyes were icy.

"What am I supposed to do? Do you want me to whimper and cry about it? Do you want me to be a little girl for you, so you can pretend I'm your little bitch like Natalia?" The blond man hadn't moved a muscle and remained propped up on his elbow, a viper in recline. Toris didn't respond. Resting his shoulder on a pillow, he took the higher ground.

"Well is this how you want to go out? Is this how you want to spend your last night as an immortal, your last night before everything changes and God knows what else?" Unlike more youthful days, he could stand his ground now. He was learning.

"What would you suggest, _Toris? _What noble pursuit is more worthy of my _fucking finite _time than making the love to my—well—you?" The smaller man's nose twitched, keeping unseen tears back. Toris sighed. If he pushed much farther, Feliks would most likely grieve again. He didn't know if he could take this man's dry grief—the raw, consuming pain a nation felt as their very fabric was undone—as much as he wanted the other to deal with things, he didn't want to see that pain reflected in him. The pangs of Unbecoming were his most deeply suppressed memories, and he couldn't see it in anyone else without having a panic attack. He knew it would find him again, and this time destroy him. But not tonight.

"I—I don't know. I never thought it would come to this." Mouse brown hair flopped back on the understuffed pillows. Feliks tucked his head under Toris' chin, tracing his collarbone with listless fingers.

"I'm not ready to die." The whisper hung in the air, untouched by the years. Toris swallowed past the fist-sized knot in his throat.

"Then you'll just have to grow old with me."

"But you're—"

"Not yet. Soon."

This silence was a comfortable one. The night rolled on, and Toris began to wonder if the wiry nation—man?—in his arms had fallen asleep for real.

"Toris?"

"Mm?"

"Like…what if we just lived like normal people? Wandered around, got odd jobs, a few dogs, had kids?"

"That would be nice." A warm feeling settled in his stomach, right where Feliks' arm was draped. He nudged the other man's foot with his own.

"We could get…like, one of Ludwig—I mean Germany's—bus car things, and, like, drive all around and make picnics and stuff."

"Mhmm." Toris pulled the other man on top of him, quieting him with a kiss. There was no tension to be found between either of them. Nimble accountant-fingers traveled down the Pole's back, stopping on the place above his hip where that tattoo he'd gotten in Minsk was. That had been his favorite of their secret rendezvous.

"We could make love under the stars in every country in the world," Feliks whispered, their noses touching.

"We could make love now."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Fuck you, I said okay first." Toris chuckled as the Pole went over earlier love bites, dragging his teeth to mark the pale skin as his own.

"So you're really okay with this?" He asked, drawing circles over the other's hips.

"Dying?"

"Mhm."

"I'm…no." The hands froze. "I guess I'm apathetic. Like…my days are over. There's nothing we can do to change it…so we might as well kiss our friends goodbye and make the most of it, you feel?" Toris resumed tracing patterns around the dimples in the small of his back.

"Whatever happened to 'rage against the dying of the light'?" The brunette mused.

"I want to, but it's really dumb."

"Hm?"

"It's dumb…I want to be killing somebody for taking all my land away, but when it comes down to it, I'm…I'm just glad it'll be you and me at the end of the world."

Feliks pressed his lips softly against Toris'. He felt his chest tighten as he tucked the Pole's messy bleach-blond hair behind his ears. He adjusted himself on top of the other man so that their half-hard erections aligned. With his clever, devious hands the blond man brought them both to full mast, straddling Toris' thighs before leaning down to capture his mouth in a much less chaste kiss.

The Lithuanian followed the curves of his lover's back—exquisite, like miles of alabaster silk—before pointedly cupping his butt. He waited for Feliks' breath to falter before moving to knead the insides of his thighs. He briefly considered flipping the other over and sucking him off. His thighs were soft and tasted like salt and pine. It was also incredibly satisfying to see the other man come crashing down inside him; the muscles under his ass would become a fabulous trembling mess, which Toris thought was the cutest thing ever. But he decided against it.

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to give in and lose himself in the roll of their combined lengths, in the sweet friction and skillful teasing of his partner's hand. Somehow Toris found the bottle of lube in the nightstand. He didn't bother with the condoms, because _fuck it, the world was ending, right_?

Feliks saw and ceased his ministrations to give Toris a better angle. The blond bit his lip as the cold lube found its way inside him, and it was just like the first time they'd been like this—the first time he'd let Toris top. The other man was knuckle-deep and soon had two fingers searching for that sensitive spot that made his gut clench. Feliks' legs shook with the effort of holding back the desire to lose himself to the other man's hands. Feeling unusually generous, he had promised himself that Toris would finish first, for a change.

Balancing on his elbows, he bent down so he had access to Toris' under-occupied mouth. Determined to sabotage the clever fingers that were making him shake, he playfully bit the other man's slightly chapped lip. He suppressed a smirk when a moan escaped the other as his tongue slipped past. _Damn, Feliks, you're one smooth bastard. _The fingers faltered for a second, so he pushed harder, grinding down on the other man's neglected cock. This time they completely paused, and Feliks felt thumbs dig into the inside of his thigh.

He grabbed a fistful of mousey hair as he again claimed his partner's mouth, tilting it to give him better access. Toris tasted of peppermint and regret, as he always had. His hands scored the back of Feliks' thigh as he made noises of want around the blond man's tongue. Focusing on the burn and the vague emptiness left as he withdrew and was withdrawn from, he kissed his way down Toris' chest, stomach and pelvis, detouring to the flushed inside of his thigh before the other man got impatient and pulled him home.

Feliks didn't particularly like giving head, but he knew his lover's blowjob-face would be well worth it. Rolling his tongue delicately along the dewy underside, he thumbed the sensitive area along his vein. He could tell Toris was close as soon as he felt the tips of his fingernails digging into the back of his scalp, so he chose that moment to pull up. With deft hands he situated his lover inside him, finally enjoying the look of pleasure and surprise on his face.

Some nights, their lovemaking was a battle; more often, it was a playful contest. Contrary to the jests of others, they weren't ones for sentimentality between the sheets. They were both damaged, and they knew it; as much as they both loved to talk, they knew sweet nothings could never truly voice what they felt. So they let the little things—things that came with the intimacy of centuries of companionship—speak for them.

Lost in the motion of their joined bodies, Feliks watched his lover come undone with unfocused eyes. Toris had given up trying to hold back his cries of pleasure as he began rocking his hips in earnest. Feliks mentally urged the brunette on—he could see the muscles in his abdomen clench as an actual blush spread from the tops of his ears down to his chest. If he was too much longer, Feliks knew he'd blow his load all over the other man prematurely because of _those fucking sinful noises coming from his unholy unfair fucking Lithuanian mouth_—

"Feliks—AAAAAUUGHH—"

Not a moment too soon, the brunette was clenching and bucking under the blonde man, marking paths down his back with his blunt nails. Seconds later, Feliks joined his lover, tumbling over the brink before collapsing in his boneless arms. He rested his head over Toris' heart, letting his breathing slow as it did.

He hadn't noticed the creeping nausea in his gut until now, but as the testosterone washed out of his system, it was unmistakable. The pain of Unbecoming. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the post-coital peace he was supposed to be feeling, but soon it was there, throbbing and clawing down his spine and setting his nerves alight with pins and needles. If he'd been more lucid, Feliks would have likened it to freezing to death—it didn't feel deadly, on the surface, but basic instinct said otherwise.

It finally dawned on him. This was it. He couldn't run, or talk, or cry his way out of this—even if Poland was reinstated as a country, it would have a new representative and he would fade. Feliks finally cried the tears of a man who lost everything he ever knew, and lying weak and sticky in bed with the one man he called a friend, he was utterly alone.

He was almost surprised when he felt Toris' arms tighten around him, burying his face in the other man's messed-up hair.

"It's going to be okay," Toris whispered.

"Bullshit."

"It's going to be okay," he continued, "Because I'm not going to leave you alone. No matter what happens. Forever."

"Forever is a lot shorter now days."

"I don't care. You're all I need in this life, and I'll follow you to the next when the time comes."

"Just me and you at the end of the world?" Feliks whispered, a smile almost tugging at his mouth as the pain grew more intense.

"Just you and me." Toris agreed, pulling a blanket over them.


End file.
